


Pray for the Wicked

by bottombeeb



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Halloween, M/M, Mormonism, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, Virginity, mormon!brendon, soul punk!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottombeeb/pseuds/bottombeeb
Summary: The mormon church has always taught Brendon that Halloween is a night of sin. Of demons and devils and evil. So every year, Brendon spends the night trying to convince sinners to see the light.It's the Urie's first All Hallows' Eve in Chicago, and Brendon finds his way into a college party, hoping to get through to someone, but ends up getting a taste of sin and just a little more than he bargained for.(Underage warning for 17 year old Brendon)





	Pray for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandon/gifts).



If you asked a hundred kids what their favorite holiday was, you'd be surprised how many of them confidently proclaim that Halloween is their favorite day of the year. When you're young, you get a whole day to dress up like your favorite monster or superhero, and then you get a whole evening to run around outside and get free candy from strangers. Then as you get older, things change, but the excitement of the holiday doesn't. Mummies and witches turn into sexy cats and nurses. Candy turns into beer. Cartoons turn into horror flicks. And people still party their heart out.

For most people, Halloween is filled with fun and scares. But not for Brendon Urie. That's because Brendon isn't most people. He's a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and he sees Halloween for what it actually is. It's a day of sin where people worship the devil and invite demons into their homes, when people turn their face from the Lord and indulge in deadly sins. Or so he's been taught. So every year on Halloween, he puts on a crisp white shirt and straight black pants, and tries to go out and help people learn the truth of the deadly holiday.

It started when he was still just a little kid. He remembers how he would go to school and be surrounded by kids in weird costumes and outfits, remembers feeling jealous of how cool they looked and how much fun it seemed. When he had asked his mom about why he couldn't wear funny outfits and get free candy, she just explained to him about how it would make Jesus disappointed, and Brendon may have pouted, but he never wanted to disappoint Jesus. So instead of trick-or-treating, he stayed at home with his mom, always answering the door with a smile and a bible in his hand. Normally kids didn't want to stay to hear his mom and him talk, but sometimes they would listen just until they realized that they weren't getting any candy in the end, and then they'd run off laughing. They did that for years and years, talking to the unhappy campers at their door and trying to explain to the mummies and vampires amped up on a sugar rush about how Jesus had a plan for all of them.

When Brendon turned 14 was when he decided he wanted to go try to spread the word of the lord outside of his own doorstep on Halloween nights. His mom handled the house and he would stand out on street corners and smile at the kids and parents who walked by, greeting them happily and engaging them in conversation. He tends to get a few comments every year about his "costume" but for the most part people realize that he's actually a Mormon and not just some kid in a false disguise, using religion as some mask to get candy to glut himself on. He would be lying if he said he didn't sometimes want a handful of m&ms or a big lollipop, but he knows his love for God and his mission is bigger than mortal wants and needs. 

Brendon had got himself a good spot on the corner of Chestnut and Main, but when the Urie's moved from the small suburban town they had grown used to and into the city of Chicago, Brendon had to rethink his strategy. He's 17 now and so he doesn't need to stay within eyesight of their place, but he also doesn't know the city well enough to wander around confidently. So when he finishes ironing his clothes, gathers up his bible and pamphlets, and kisses his mom on the cheek on the night of All Hallows' Eve, there's a bit of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

The wind blows by Brendon as he steps out onto the pavement outside of their building, but the cold doesn't get to him. His heart is racing enough to keep him warm. With a look to the right, and then one to the left, Brendon takes off in a random direction, knowing it doesn't matter where he heads as long as he can get home. They moved near the end of August so that his dad could be closer to his job, but in the two months since they've been here, Brendon hasn't managed to learn how to get much further than his school and the supermarket.There's far fewer kids and families in the city. Brendon isn't used to the change from the safe suburban sidewalks to the gritty city streets he walks down.

The young mormon boy feels very much out of his element as he hesitantly makes his way further from home. He thinks maybe he wouldn't be so nervous if it wasn't a night of spirits and demons and evil. But that's why he's out here instead of safe in his house. He needs to spread the word of the Lord and explain to these sinners just what they're doing wrong on a night like tonight, just how they're worshipping evil. An hour ticks by as Brendon wanders around the neighborhood, and then another, talking to whoever will give him the time of day. He manages to get the attention of a handful of people, but no one seems really captured by his explanations and guiding words. 

He's just thinking he should call it a night and go back and help his mom out when he hears a commotion nearby. Following the noise around a corner, he's greeted by the sight of a house, decorated and blasting music, front door open with people spilling out onto the lawn. There's a fake tombstone in the grass and take spiderwebs hanging from every corner of the two story house. People yell and scream and curse from inside, and Brendon can see red solo cups in the hands of the people hanging out outside, dark smoke clouds hanging in the air above the heads of the pirates and the skeletons.

Brendon's both surprised and confused to see what looks like a full house in the middle of the city, but that's when he notices three strange symbols painted on the side of the building. He knows they're greek letters and not ritual markings, but it still makes the house look eerie in the night. His mom says that fraternity houses like these are basically just breeding grounds for sin. She always tells him to stay away from kids who smoke, who drink, who sin, who follow the temptations of satan. But... she also always tells him that those living deepest in sin are the ones that need their help and guidance to find the Lord the most.

Heart racing, palms sweating, fingers gripping his bible, Brendon makes a decision. He believes in the word of the goodness of the Lord enough to know that he can overcome any and all temptations that might present themselves to him in there. He's going in.

Brendon expected to be stopped or questioned, or at least looked at, but no one says anything as he walks into the yard, holding his bible to his chest like a lifeline. No one even acknowledges him as he walks up the steps to the porch. No one bats an eye as he steps through the threshold. As soon as he takes a breath, he's met with the smell of beer and sweat, a barrage of noise in his ears and jarring his senses. He hesitantly keeps moving, looking for some sort of centralized area, passing making out couples, sloppy drunk frat guys, and lots of cursing mouths. So this is a college party?

If Brendon went into this with even an ounce of confidence, it's completely evaporated by now. He finds what must be the living room, but he's feeling nothing but overwhelmed. Leaning against a wall to the side seems like all he can do at this point. He breathes and tries to take everything in. The music. The people. The alcohol. Everything. It's overwhelming and it makes his head spin. He wants to leave, but for some reason there's something that keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground, watching from afar and not even attempting to approach a single person. It doesn't take long before someone approaches  _ him _ .

"I like your costume," is how the girl greets him, a coy smile on her face.

She's tall and thin, with dark hair and lots of makeup. Brendon's mom says that makeup is whorish and that girls should just embrace their God-given beauty. But his mom also says that girls shouldn't show off a lot of skin, and this girl is doing exactly that. Brendon doesn't know what she's supposed to be, but after taking in the sight of her skintight black dress, he notices a headband on her head, sporting two cheap little cat ears. 

"Uh, it's not a costume," Brendon responds honestly, because lying is a sin and he has no reason to lie anyway, "I'm a Mormon."

"Oh," the girl says, a flash of disappointment through her eyes, "well, you still look cute."

The girl bites her lip and leans close, a hand reaching out to rest on Brendon's arm. Without thinking, the teenage boy takes a step back, making her hand fall limpy at her side, taking that teasing facial expression of hers with it.

"Would you uh," Brendon starts, feeling a bit awkward before he paints a confident smile on his face, "would you like to learn a bit about the truth of Halloween and what it means to our Lord and Savior in His eyes?"

The girl just looks at him like he's speaking another language. And then with a simple "no" she's gone, walking away and making her way over to some other boy. Brendon hates to feel so disappointed but it's hard. He feels like he's failed every time he can't interest someone in the word of the Lord. Looking around, he sees nothing but kids who must be just like her, interested in nothing but the night and the party.

With a frown and a sigh, Brendon makes his way over to the newly-vacated couch in the middle of the room. He needs to rest. He's been on his feet for over two hours and the heat of the party is making him feel almost suffocated. He takes a seat and tries not to think about might have gone on in this house, under the eyes of God. The bible in his arms feels heavy with importance, like it's shielding Brendon from everything that could hurt him here. Shielding him from everything dangerous and everything that could be fun. All of the laughing and music and dancing, all of the candy and kissing and- no. No, that's not what he wants. He doesn't want those things. That's just the influence of the devil trying to lead him astray.

He lifts his eyes eventually, once he feels a bit more calm and less tempted, and scans over the room. Some of these people seem like true sinners, but some of them just look like awkward teenagers. He wonders if he could get through to any of them... Right as he's trying to work up the courage to go try to talk to someone, there's a flash of color that catches his eye. His focus snaps to the blur of red and the devil horns, heart racing out of control in his chest. The sight doesn't go away, but he realizes after a moment that it's not the devil personified in this college frat house, but instead just a guy in a costume. A devil costume. Black undershirt, red suit, black fingerless gloves, red bow tie, black eyeliner, red devil horns, a scheme of black and red that has Brendon finding it hard to breathe. It's a good look, but he knows it's only because the devil chooses his methods of temptation well. In the form of a perfect fruit. In the form of a beautiful woman who isn't your wife. In the form of a needle or a pull. In the form of lies and dishonesty. In the form of a thin, bleach blonde boy, standing 20 feet away from Brendon at a college party on Halloween night.

The guy's eye's shift and all of a sudden Brendon's heart practically stops along with his breath because they're making eye contact. A rush of warmth goes through his body, making him flush, but he doesn't look away, and neither does the stranger. A smile tugs up the corners of the guy's mouth in a way that's not polite, it's something else that Brendon can't identify. Something that makes his stomach flip and the sound of blood rush in his ears. He drops his gaze, the intensity of it too much for the young innocent boy that he is. He stares down at the bible in his lap and tries to remember how to breathe. In and out. In. And out. In. And out. Is it always this difficult?

Eventually, Brendon feels the dip of the couch next to him, and the color red creeps into his peripheral. 

“Hey,” comes a voice, low and easy, slinking it’s way around Brendon and pulling him in.

Brendon looks over and comes face to face with the guy he already expected, whole body turned towards Brendon’s direction on the couch. What he didn’t expect though were those eyes. They’re blue. Not red, not black, not dark, not evil. They’re blue and bright with a sparkle in their color that makes Brendon feel a bit lost. He feels like he could drown in those eyes.

“H-hey,” he responds, voice shaky and making him feel young and lame.

The stranger just smiles, a friendliness in his eyes that catches Brendon off guard. There’s also something else about the air around the guy. If Brendon didn’t know better, he would say it was a bit of awkwardness or nervous energy. But someone as attractive and suave as this guy probably has no reason to be awkward or nervous or unsure. Maybe it’s just everything Brendon’s been putting into the room from when he first walked in.

“I’m Patrick by the way,” says the devil in the red suit, his polite tone contrasting so strongly with his outfit.

Brendon just nods before realizing that oh yeah, he’s probably supposed to respond to that. Why are words suddenly so hard?

“Uh, I’m Brendon- I mean uh,” he catches himself too late, face turning red at his mistake, “Elder um, Urie.”

He’s supposed to refer to himself as an elder around others when he’s in his missionary outfit. He’s supposed to uphold that professionalism and respectability about him. But right now he feels nothing but scrambled.

“Well,  _ Elder Urie, _ ” Patrick says, putting such emphasis on his name that it almost makes Brendon shiver, especially when the guy pauses to give him a look, “you look really good in that outfit of yours.”

Brendon feels warm and flushed all over, his hands sweating and his heart racing in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say or how to react, but he’s also scared of this devil, this  _ Patrick,  _ saying even one more word. So when the other guy opens his mouth to speak, Brendon cuts him off hastily.

“W-would you like to hear about the uh, the teachings of our Lord and s-savior Jesus Christ?” Brendon asks, forcing an unsure smile onto his face.

“I sure would,” Patrick responds, a smile on his voice as he rests his arm along the back of the couch, hand resting just behind Brendon’s neck, not touching but close enough that Brendon knows it’s there.

He swallows hard, and looks down at his book to gather his thoughts. Okay, he’s gotten someone to listen. Now all he has to do is talk. When he looks up again, he’s feeling more sure of himself and his message. Not even this handsome stranger can detract him from that. He takes a breath, and when he speaks, his voice is clear and strong.

Patrick is a better listener than anyone else Brendon has run into tonight. He nods and asks questions, eyes interested and inquisitive (but still always with that intense gaze fixed on Brendon), and Brendon kind of loses track of the time. He gets really into the word of the Lord and the passion of their savior. It feels good to be heard and to be listened to, and he doesn’t even mind the way Patrick’s been leaning in and smiling and brushing Brendon’s shoulder every chance he gets. Eventually he comes to a slow from all the talking, and stops to catch his breath, trying to decide where to proceed with their conversation. During his brief intermission however, Patrick seems to have his own thoughts on his mind.

“You really know a lot about this, huh?” the guy asks, genuine interest in his expression.

Brendon nods earnestly, knowing his eyes must look so innocent and pure in the haze of the den of sin he’s found himself in. Patrick leans in at that, and Brendon stops breathing again, wondering if he’ll ever get enough air in his lungs while this guy is around.

“Well if you wanna go somewhere quieter to talk some more, we can always head upstairs,” Patrick offers simply.

It doesn’t seem like a strange offer, but there’s something nervous and unsure in his voice, like he’s predicting that Brendon’s about to turn him down. The young mormon doesn’t know why since that seems like a pretty good idea to get away from the noise and commotion of the living room, but then all of a sudden there’s a hand right above his knee. It startles him at the same time that it sends a rush of heat all the way up through his body. He stares down at Patrick’s hand on his leg and tries to process everything that’s happening right now fast enough to react.

“Or we could always do… something else,” Patrick mumbles in a way that seems unsure and nervous, but sounds like pure sin to Brendon’s ears.

Something else? What is something else? What does that mean? Patrick makes it sound so sinful. It’s gotta be something sinful right? Right? But what is it? Alcohol, drugs, rock and roll, naked girls, who knows what could be waiting upstairs. He should say no. Obviously he should turn down this friendly stranger and get out of there, proud of himself for even giving the part a try in the name or the Lord.

“O-okay, yeah,” is what comes out of his mouth, soft and shaky and oh so innocent.

Patrick smiles at him, eyes bright and happy, but there’s something darker in them now, something that sends a chill down Brendon’s spine. Without another word, the hand on his leg is gone and so is the weight of Patrick next to him on the couch. The man in red stands up and offers his hand to Brendon, and the mormon takes it almost in a daze, letting the man pull him through the maze of the party.

Patrick is shorter than him, even with the tall horns, but Brendon doesn’t mind. Actually, it’s almost endearing seeing the guy with such a presence take up such a small physical space. Brendon lets himself be lead to the stairs, keeping his hand in Patrick’s gloved on the whole way, even as they travel up the stairs and down the hallway to an empty room. Brendon clutches his bible in his free hand, but he clutches Patrick’s hand just as tight, feeling like he’s missing an anchor when Patrick finally lets him go. Brendon looks around, a bit surprised when he realizes that the room they’re in is a bedroom. Well, he guesses it is quieter up here to talk. Or whatever else it was that Patrick wanted to do. 

Brendon doesn’t have a chance to break the silence between them, because the next thing he knows, there’s two hands gripping the front of his front of his shirt so fiercely he stumbles back a step. Patrick’s face is so close to his, so heart-stoppingly close, and the older guy is breathing hot and short breaths over Brendon’s lips. Brendon doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that he doesn’t step back, doesn’t make a single move to put distance between them despite his spinning head.

“Can I kiss you?” Patrick asks in a breathless voice, nearly pleading in that tone of voice.

The question is a jolt to Brendon, an idea put into his brain that he never even considered. A temptation he never knew he wanted. He doesn’t know what comes over him, what grip of the devil it is that controls his movement, but he finds his head nodding slowly, up and down. Patrick captures his gaze with those blue eyes and Brendon loses all ability to breathe, hearing the thump of his bible slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor. Patrick’s eyes look searching, like he’s not sure if Brendon’s sure. 

“Y-yeah,” Brendon breathes out in a voice so quiet, he barely knows he spoke. 

He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, what Halloween demons are in this house tonight, he doesn’t know-

And then Patrick kisses him.

And then he lets go of everything inside of himself.

It feels so natural for his hands to come up to frame Patrick’s face, pulling the guy closer to him to kiss him harder, deeper, more more more. Because he’s never in his life felt anything like the feeling of Patrick’s lips on his. It’s sparks and fireworks, igniting an entire city of lights within him that would make even Vegas jealous. He makes a noise into the kiss, but he doesn’t care how he sounds as long as Patrick will keep kissing him with those lips that taste like sin and make him lose his grip on the world. The good mormon girls he’s kissed after polite innocent dates never kissed like this. They never kissed him hard, like they were drowning for more. They never bit at his lips when they took a breath. They never backed him up and pushed him against a wall, making him feel at the same time both trapped and exactly where he wants to be.

Brendon whimpers, desperate and needy when Patrick’s lips leave his own, but they don’t go too far. They kiss their way up Brendon’s jaw, hot and heavy with the sound of wet panting between them, and Brendon doesn’t care if he dies right here, under those lips and that touch. There’s a kiss behind his jaw, then under his lip, then those lips are trailing their way down to right above Brendon’s collar. He can feel fingers on his tie, working the knot loose slowly, and he swallows hard, knowing there’s no part of him that wants to stop what Patrick’s doing. Or at least, no part of him strong enough to actually take any action. His own fingers side into Patrick’s hair, accidentally knocking those plastic little devil horns off. Neither of them care. Especially when Patrick finally gets that tie out of the way and gets the top two buttons on Brendon’s shirt undone.

Brendon cries out at the feeling of teeth on his skin, right above his collarbone. It hurts, but it goes right to his stomach. Well, his stomach and other places a bit further south. Patrick sucks that injured skin into his mouth and Brendon’s head falls back, so far gone from the touches and kisses that he’s so desperate to accept. Later he’ll freak out. But not right now.

“Please,” the word falls off his lips, almost like a prayer even though Brendon has no idea what he’s asking for.

Apparently Patrick knows exactly what Brendon’s asking for, because before the younger boy has a chance to react, Patrick’s pulling away, and Brendon is opening the eyes he didn’t even realize were closed to the sight of the older boy on his knees in front of him. All the breath leaves his lungs in one long huff, and Patrick just licks his lips as he looks up at the overwhelmed mormon, hands resting softly on Brendon’s hips.

“You okay?” Patrick asks, soft and reassuring, and Brendon can only nod.

Nod and gasp at the feeling of Patrick’s face pressing into the front of his pants, right into his crotch. He’s hard and needy, a desperate whine falling from Brendon’s shaky lips, feeling lightheaded at the feeling of Patrick basically nuzzling his cock through his pants.

“Can I blow you?” Patrick asks, sounding heavy and breathy in a voice that projects clear need.

“Please, please,” Brendon begs before he can stop himself, and his cock twitches at the wicked grin that crosses Patrick’s face.

Patrick reaches for Brendon’s belt, and the young boy’s heart hammers uncontrollably in his chest. He knows what this means. He knows he’s about to lose his virginity, right here in this frat house, but god he wants to. He wants to get off. He wants to feel Patrick. He wants another kiss. He wants… he just  _ wants. _

A loud noise startles Brendon out of his daze, but when he focuses, he realizes it’s just Patrick pulling off his velcroed gloves with his teeth. Lord, why is that hot? Why does that make his hips twitch?

“Sorry,” Patrick apologizes, a small smile on his lips that Brendon just wants to kiss.

Brendon wants to tell him that’s okay, it’s no big deal, but he doesn’t have time. Because Patrick is reaching into Brendon’s pants to tug his cock out, warm and sure fingers wrapping around the length of him easily. The virgin boy can do nothing but gasp and whimper, eyes squeezing shut at such a simple touch as he reaches out to hold on to Patrick by his hair. The older guy just chuckles and leans in, and Brendon feels his entire world tilt on his access as Patrick sucks him into his mouth. Brendon practically keens at the feeling, heat and warmth and wetness surrounding him in a way that makes his knees weak. He never knew a feeling like this existed in the world, but now he’s desperate for it to never end.

It doesn’t take long for him to be whimpering and shaking, on the verge of falling apart. He feels something building inside of him as Patrick keeps bobbing his head, tongue working over the head in a way that is making Brendon dizzy beyond belief. Brendon doesn’t know how to warn him, doesn’t know what to say, so all he can do is whimper out a “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” before he’s coming hard right in Patrick’s mouth. His whole body arches into it, the most filthy needy sounds spilling from his mouth as waves and waves of warm pleasure flow over his body. It leaves him on cloud nine, flying high in euphoria like he’s never felt before. 

All of a sudden, his legs give out. It would have caused a real disaster if it wasn’t for the strong and sure arms around him, holding him up and letting him get his bearings. Once he manages to come back to himself, he’s laughing. He laughs until he’s breathless and there are tears in his eyes, and then he grabs Patrick’s face in his hands and pulls the shorter guy in for a hard kiss. The taste is different, something he wasn’t expecting, and Brendon realizes with a jolt that it’s the taste of his own come. He moans into the kiss, chasing that taste with his tongue, needing more and more and  _ more _ .

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Patrick all but growls into his mouth, the curse and the tone making Brendon surge with another wave of want. 

“You’re…” is all Brendon can vocalize, finishing his thought with just another rough kiss, pulling Patrick as close as he physically can.

Patrick kisses him back hard, but he’s shifting them around in a way that Brendon doesn’t understand. But then he feels a hardness and a weight against his thigh, and he understands. Maybe he should be freaked out by the idea of another man’s cock pressing against him, or maybe he should be freaked out by the fact that a guy just gave him a blow job, but he doesn’t care one bit. Everything just feels so good and right and perfect, and all he can do is give in to his desires.

Brendon kisses Patrick until the older guy’s breaths get short, and doesn’t stop even when the guy’s mouth hangs loose and pliant. It’s so hot hearing Patrick come, and Brendon wants to save it in his mind so he can play it on repeat every day of his life.

Patrick and Brendon laugh and they breathe and they kiss. They kiss until they can’t breathe. They kiss until their lips are bruised. They kiss until their jaws hurt. And then they kiss some more. On and on and on until Brendon’s phone buzzes with a text in his pocket. 

With a groan, Brendon pulls back, wishing he never had to leave this perfect moment. It’s from his mom of course, wondering where he is, and Brendon explains to Patrick, catching the way the guy’s face falls.

“Can I see you again?” Patrick asks, the whole question coming out in a rush like the guy was just blurting it out. 

There’s a tingle under Brendon’s skin, and he can answer the devil’s question without even stopping to think.

“Yeah, yes, I would love that,” Brendon responds, breathless and happy, loving the way those blue eyes light up at his response.

\--

A half hour later, Brendon’s taking off down the street in the direction of home, feeling dazed and overwhelmed, but definitely not confused or lost. He’s got his bible in his hand, and his clothes cleaned up, but there’s a number in his phone that wasn’t there before, and a wet spot on his cheek from Patrick’s final kiss.

His fingers ghost over his cheek and he smiles. Who knew the devil could kiss so sweetly?


End file.
